Interception
by NephilimEQ
Summary: Some of Colonel Tavington's letters and journals fall into the Martin family's hands...what do they do with them?
1. The Letters

**A.N. - This is my first "Patriot" fan fiction, so please don't flame me! I tried to make things as accurate to the time period as possible, and I tried _very_ hard to stay in character! Thank you!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 - The Letters<strong>

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><p>"Gabriel, take these," Benjamin Martin said to his son, shoving several letters into the young man's hands.<p>

Gabriel looked down at the letters, and then looked back up towards his father in shock. They were the personal correspondence of Colonel Tavington himself. A quick glance at them told him that they were from England, most likely from family.

"Father…" He paused, unsure of how to say what was on his mind, but then forged on ahead. "Am I to open these?"

His father looked down at him, pausing in rifling through the bag in front of him, a firm look in his eyes.

"Yes, Gabriel."

With that, he turned his back on his son and began to inventory what he found in the bag, while Gabe looked down at the letters in his hands with some trepidation. He was not comfortable with what he'd been asked to do…but he would do it anyway.

He slipped his fingers underneath an as of yet unbroken seal, and began to read

_3 August, 1779_

_Dear William,_

_I wish I could bring you better news, but I'm afraid I must be the bearer of grim tidings. Your wife, Elaine, has taken ill and we are afraid that she will not last through the year. She is asking for you nearly every waking moment, which I am afraid to say, is becoming less and less frequent. The doctor cannot do anything more than to try and lessen the pain that she is in. However, I do not feel that it is enough._

_She cries out in the night in pain, your name on her lips. I have tried to console her, as well as her sister and brother, but she will not be comforted. She longs to have you near her, and I am afraid that she will only hold on for you. Should you die in this endeavor, I fear she will quickly follow, unwilling to live in a world where you are not there. Your younger brother, Erik, fears for her and does not know what to do. He constantly speaks of your guiding words in times of trial, and how he wishes you were here to guide him. I, too, miss your guidance at times, as well as your good humour, but I know that you must fight for your country._

_Please come home as soon as you can. Elaine needs you here, as do we, but my thoughts are for her well-being, and her well-being alone._

_Fight the good fight, show compassion where you can. They are still our brothers, William. They are just merely trying to find another place in this world, though they may be misguided in their efforts. Remember…they are still men, and no man is perfect._

_All my love,_

_Mother_

Gabriel slowly folded the letter back up, trying to process the emotions that ran through him at reading such words. It was times like these that he remembered that even though the Colonel was a brutal man, he was still a man, nonetheless.

A sudden pang gripped him as he realized that the letter hadn't been opened until he'd broken the wax seal. Tavington didn't know about his wife's illness.

Ignoring the feeling, he placed the letter to the side and opened one that had obviously already been read. As he read this one, he felt something inside of him change, and his eyes opened in shock at the words on the page.

_15 February, 1777_

_My dearest William,_

_How I long to see you again, my darling husband. Your mother is staying here at our home, keeping to her promise of watching over me while you are gone, but I am afraid that her presence merely reminds me every day of the fact that you are gone. I long to be next to you, but at the same time I know that you are where you need to be._

_Have you heard any news of my cousin, Charlotte Selton? I had heard that she had settled in Charlestown, South Carolina. She is very dear to me, and I do so regret that her family left. I had heard that her now deceased sister, Elizabeth, was married to a man named Benjamin Martin and that they had several children. If you meet Charlotte, or Elizabeth's children, please spare them. They have never hated the crown, nor would they turn against their beliefs. _

_My heart aches for you, and I count every single day as it passes by. Though there is an ocean between us, my dear William, you are still here in my heart, and there you will remain. I pray for you every night and morning, and I hope you come home safely._

_All my heart,_

_Elaine_

Gabriel was grateful that he was sitting down at that particular moment. They were related to Colonel Tavington? This was almost too much to comprehend. He glanced over to where his father was now sorting through some journals, and remained silent.

No, his father did not need to know. No one needed to know.

He began to reach for another letter, one that was also open, but looked to be unfinished, but then his father called his name.

"Gabriel…look through these ones, alright? I need to go check on some of the men."

With that, his father left him with several leather bound journals, all of them Colonel Tavington's. He briefly wondered whether or not it was truly ethical to be doing what the two of them were doing, but he realized that if they wanted to win the war, they needed any information that they could get their hands on.

He looked at the three journals and decided to read a couple more letters before going through them.

He pulled out the unfinished letter…and then put it to the side and instead pulled out a letter with different handwriting than the other two and began to read.

_10 May, 1777_

_My dearest love,_

_Please forgive me. I feel…so ashamed for what I have done. Regrettably, yes, I have met Benjamin Martin. And I have done something horrible. The war is damaging my soul, my beloved, and I don't know what I can do to stop it from happening any further. How I wish you were here beside me at this moment, so that I could take comfort in your warmth and steady strength. But at the same time, I want you nowhere near this hell that I have been forced to bear._

_At times, I want to run from here and return home to your side, but my duty binds me to this place. However, it is one that every man is called upon to do in their life, and it is a burden that I must bear willingly if I want to see you again._

_I do not want to speak of the war and the atrocities that I have witnessed and been a part of. I do not want to see you stained by what haunts my every waking moment and torments me every night in my dreams._

_Elaine, I love you. I love and I pray for you as well, every morning and every night. I pray that you remain safe while I am gone, and that you will find peace in knowing that I am serving our country in the only way that I can. All the treasure in the world could never amount to what I'd give to be back with you._

_Forever yours,_

_William_

At this, Gabriel found himself rather uncomfortable; realizing that the man was so similar to him in the fact that he had someone he loved that he prayed would be untouched by the war's stain was not something that he'd been expecting. They were both torn apart from their wives, and they both wanted nothing more than to protect them.

It was strange, but at the same time he felt like an idiot for forgetting that every single man fighting this war was still a man, and was merely trying to do what _they_ believed to be right.

The journals seemed to be calling to him, and so he picked them up and thumbed through the pages, trying to decide where to start.

However, something caught his eye, something he was sure that the Colonel would only have done for his own eyes alone and no one else's. Gabriel felt almost ashamed, but at the same time was unable to tear his eyes away from it.

It was a beautifully done pencil drawing of a young woman's face. Her eyes seemed to be smiling at the person who'd drawn her and there was almost a humorous glint in them. The turn of her lips was only slightly upwards, as though she were trying not to smile at something humorous being said at her expense. He couldn't help but admire the beautiful lines and subtle shadowing that accentuated the slight curve of her neck, and then he realized. The Colonel had drawn this.

He was tempted to snap the book shut and throw it to the ground, but instead he gently opened it the rest of the way and flipped to the last entries, which were about halfway through the book. Obviously, this particular journal was his most recent.

Feeling guilty, he began to read one of the last few entries...

"_I fear what I am becoming. I cannot believe what I have done by my own hand, the blood that I have shed. Taking a life was once a dreadful concept to even conceive, let alone to act upon, and now I do it without sparing a single thought; without feeling it in my soul._

_What am I? What would Elaine say if she knew what I have done? I shan't dare tell her; she would never truly understand. I am afraid that she would hear the words, but be unable to process their true meaning. I am afraid that I am forgetting how to feel. I see my blade cut through countless bodies, I see myself shoot down numberless men and women, and I feel…nothing. I know I should feel at least some measure of guilt, for, I know in my heart, they are still human. They are still my brothers and sisters._

_And yet, I feel nothing. I truly am losing myself…"_

He flipped to the last entry, suddenly finding himself insatiably curious as to what Tavington had written.

"_I feel that that I have lost myself completely. As soon as I draw on the clothes of my rank, I am suddenly someone that I hate. A man that I despise and wish did not exist, but at the same time I know that I must become this person in order to bring us to victory._

_But now I find myself questioning even this war. If they want to be separated from the crown, they should be allowed to, should they not? I can barely believe that I am writing down these words, damning and treasonous ones that they are, but all I can see now is this ridiculous feud that seems to have no point._

_I have found out rather recently from General Cornwallis what the people have taken to calling me. The Butcher. Dear lord, is this person I've become…no, the word person is not strong enough. Is this _demon_ I've become now all that is left of me? How can I return home to my family knowing the pain and suffering that I've caused? How can I turn a blind eye to the horrific acts I have perpetuated and the events that I've forced to occur?_

_Not too long ago, I gave one of my officers an order to burn a church filled with men, women, and children, after making sure that they could not escape, and the words he spoke to me will haunt me for the rest of my waking days._

"_There is no honor in this," is what he said to me._

_And he was right. There was no honor in what I had ordered him to do, and I look upon that man as being twice the man I am. Captain Wilkins, the man who turned traitor to his own "countrymen", has more honor than I ever will or could ever hope to have. When I told General Cornwallis that I would take the full mantle of responsibility, rendering him blameless, it was for his sake. He did not need to bear the burden of my sins._

_Knowing that I cannot return to England, that I cannot return to my wife…I feel nothing but shame. I have no honor, I have no conscience. Not anymore. I do not know how to live with myself. If I die in this war, it will only be fitting._

_I feel, that this will be my last and final missive, and I can only hope and pray that when someone reads this, they will know of my failings…and that I regret every single action I ever took upon the people of this American land. May my soul burn in hell for what I have done…"_

Gabriel slowly closed the journal, barely believing what he had just read. He glanced around himself, making sure that no one was paying any attention, and he slid the few letters that he'd read into the pages of the journal.

They needed to be returned.

He would have to wait until it was late enough that everyone was asleep, so he would be able to sneak away undetected.

As night fell across the encampment, he patiently waited for the right time. He glanced towards where his father usually slept, saw that he was fast asleep, and he knew that now was the time to leave. He placed the journals into his bag and headed for an old hunting path that led right to where Tavington was camped.

As he slipped through the darkness between the trees, his mind kept remembering the letter that he'd opened.

How would Tavington react knowing that he could not go home to his wife who was now desperately ill?

Gabriel shook the thought from his head and kept on moving, knowing that he had to make good time to the Colonel's camp in order for him to be back to his own encampment before morning. He planned to merely leave the journals outside one of the closest tents and then bolt. He would not accidentally lead one of their enemies back to where they were safely hidden in the Black Swamp at the remains of the old Spanish church.

It took him a little over two hours on foot, but he made it. As he approached the encampment, he was able to distinguish the Colonel's tent easily from the rest…and it also happened to be the one that was closest to the edge of the encampment, near where the trees met the field.

He stepped carefully, making sure not to make a sound that would betray his position.

As he did so, he silently prayed that the Colonel was asleep or otherwise occupied, so that he might not be discovered.

He gently placed the canvas bag on the ground next to the opening and began to slowly back away, when, suddenly, he felt a knife between his shoulder blades and an arm around his throat holding yet another knife. A low voice issued from the person holding him captive, and he immediately recognized it as the Colonel's.

"Give me one good reason not to kill you, and I _might_ let you live."

He pressed the blade at his throat slightly into his skin, and Gabriel quickly spoke up.

"I'm only returning your journals and letters! I swear it on my mother's grave!"

At that, he felt the knife at his throat leave, but the one at his back started to dig slightly into his skin, making him wince at the sharp and unwanted pain. He could tell from the pointed prodding that Tavington wanted him to move forward, so he did so without any protest.

He watched as the Colonel, dressed only in breeches and a white, open, blood-stained shirt, reached down and moved the material of the bag enough to inspect what was inside of it. Then something strange happened.

Tavington's eyes dropped, as did his hand holding the knife to Gabriel's back, and he fell to his knees as he pulled out the letter that had obviously been opened by someone other than himself. Gabriel watched with some trepidation as the man, with no concern for his safety, stumbled into his tent and lit a candle with shaky hands and read the missive. He seemed oblivious to the young man who still stood just outside his tent, the young man who now had the advantage over his enemy…but he did not take it.

He watched as Tavington read the letter, the slit of the tent now wide open after the Colonel had thrust the material to the side and up over the top pole.

Then he saw something that he'd never seen before.

Silent tears were running down the Colonel's face, and Gabriel was at a loss. Should he leave, and risk being followed? Or should he stay?

Something in his mind was screaming at him to leave, to run, to get out of that place as fast as he could! He was behind enemy lines and he had the chance to escape with his life, and that was not a chance that he should pass up! But something in his gut was telling him to stay for a few moments longer…and he listened to it.

Tavington's eyes met his…and there was no anger in them. Nor malice. Nor anything that might be portrayed as any form of animosity.

Instead, there was something else. Something indefinable.

"Thank…thank you," were the first words out of the man's mouth, and Gabriel could barely believe what he was hearing.

He then watched in shock as the man approached him, his hands devoid of any weapons of any kind, his eyes beseeching.

"I will not follow you, and I will not try to find you. You have given me…more than I can adequately express in words. Please, go now before I change my mind…or before someone else sees you and I am forced to kill you."

With that, Gabriel bolted from his spot and quickly made his way back to his encampment, shaving off fifteen minutes from his previous journey, the adrenaline coursing through his veins pushing him further than he ever thought was possible. He could practically hear the blood rushing through him, and as he slipped back into camp, he took a moment to compose himself.

Tavington had let him go.

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><p><strong>Part 13**


	2. The Return

**Chapter 2 - The Return**

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><p>Colonel Tavington carefully regarded each journal and letter as he pulled them out and glanced through them. The Martin boy had given him something that was beyond price. He wondered if the young man had read anything more than the letter, and then decided that it didn't matter.<p>

As he read once more the letter from his mother, he felt his throat close up at the mention of Elaine's illness.

He should've been there with her. He should have been home.

Knowing that he couldn't return to her had been hard, but now knowing that he couldn't be there for her in her time of need was even harder for him to come to grips with.

She was his everything, his whole reason for wanting to go on living. They hadn't been able to have a child, even though they had tried for several years, but he had learned that they didn't need one in order to love each other. He knew that she knew him better than anyone and that to live without her would be a death unto itself.

But now he would be forced to, as he was unable to return.

He tried to hold in the cry that wanted to escape from him at the injustice of it all.

He walked out of his tent, looking up towards the rather breathtaking night sky, wanting nothing more than to be back by his wife's side.

However, that was no longer possible…and he had only himself to blame for it. How was he going to tell her that he wouldn't be coming home? That they would never be able to see each other again? That, because of his mindless thirst for blood, he was unable to return home with any honor, therefore he couldn't return home at all?

At that sudden thought, he realized something.

He didn't care if he had no honor to bring home…all he wanted to do was be at her side. Elaine was never one to care about honor or dignity to one's country; so long as he was alive he knew that she would simply want to have him by her side...as he wanted to be besides hers.

His breath created columns of silvery gray smoke in the cold night air, and he watched as it disappeared into nothingness as it drifted into the dark.

He glanced towards where the Martin boy had disappeared and let out a sigh.

No, he would not follow the boy…not after what he had already done to the boy's family.

The thought pained William more than he wanted to admit, but he tried to shove it to the side. He hadn't known that he was related by marriage to the family, however distant it was. It was an uncomfortable realization, but he bore it as best he could, even if it meant festering on the inside with unspoken and unacknowledged guilt.

He glanced back towards his tent, thinking on the letters and journals that had been returned to him.

Why had the Martin boy returned them to him? That was one thing that he simply didn't understand. It just made no sense.

But his thoughts were distracted by the words that his mother had written to him…the words that kept circling through his mind like a horse stuck on a track with nowhere else to go.

"_She longs to have you near her, and I am afraid that she will only hold on for you…"_

Those words haunted him more than he could bear. She was his life, his reason for living, and he wanted nothing more than to be by her side and to help her through her sickness, but he could not and it was slowly shattering his heart. More of his mother's words came to him, and he found silent tears running down his face at the memory.

"_Should you die in this endeavor, I fear she will quickly follow, unwilling to live in a world where you are not there…"_

It was very much the same for him. He couldn't live in a world where she didn't exist…and now they were forced to live in the same world, but to be forever separated.

No…that would not do.

A plan slowly formed in his mind, and he vowed to himself that he would see it done.

But for now, he had to rest.

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><p>Colonel Tavington arrived in full uniform the next morning at General Cornwallis' tent, a speech already prepared in his mind.<p>

"Come in."

He walked into the tent, apprehension filling him for what he was about to see.

"My Lord General. Good morning to you."

The general did not look up, focused on feeding his dogs, but Tavington bore the general's searing indifference with as much dignity as was possible. He knew that the man despised him and his methods, but could not fault him on results, so he put up with Tavington as well as any leader could.

"Tavington. Good morning to you, as well. What brings you by on a morning such as this?"

He took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"General…we have previously discussed how I am unable to return back to England with any honor...but I have to return anyway as my wife is very ill. I could care less about my honor and will gladly give up my uniform, so long as I can stay by her side. If I am to be tried for crimes, I will do so, but not until my wife recovers."

He held his breath, bracing himself for the fury of words that he was sure that the general would respond with after he spoke his peace.

Cornwallis gave him a look, one that left him confused. It was a closed look, leaving him guessing as to what the general felt about what he'd just said.

"William," he started, and the fact that he had spoken his first name was enough to catch his attention.

"William," he repeated. "I am willing to do so, but you will not be tried for any crimes...at least, not for now. I, too, have been made aware of your wife's condition. There is little that I do not know about my officers; and I am insisting that you go back on the first supply ship that will take you."

With that, he handed him an unopened letter that bore the general's seal and gave him a look.

"Sir?"

Cornwallis merely gave him an understanding look, and then gestured towards him.

"You leave tomorrow, Tavington. Stay safe."

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><p><em><strong>7 Weeks Later<strong>_

Colonel William Tavington walked up to his house from the carriage, his pace quickening with every step that he took.

His wife was waiting for him, and he was going to be by her side no matter what.

He barged through his front doors, ignoring the frightened exclamations from the servants, and practically ran up the stairs to where he knew his wife would be. In their bedroom, waiting for him after all these months of being away from her.

As he came through the door, he came to a sudden stop, his breath nearly gone as he saw her lying on their bed.

Elaine's face was pale, her dark brown hair lank where it was strewn across the pillow, her body obviously weak from fatigue. He took a few tentative steps towards her bedside, finding himself suddenly frozen in fear.

At the sound of his footsteps, her head turned on her pillow…and their eyes met.

"Will…William? Is that you?"

Her voice was breathless, as though she was having trouble breathing, and he felt his heart catch in his throat at the sound.

He walked forward towards the bed, gently placing his hand on hers where it lay pale against the sheets. He felt something inside of himself suddenly strengthen at the simple touch of her hand against his, and he knew that he had chosen correctly in coming home to her.

"Yes, Elaine…I'm here."

At this, her pale green eyes began to fill with tears, and she pulled his hand to her face with sudden unknown strength.

"Oh, William…you're home! I thought for sure that I'd never see you again before I…well, before I…"

Her voice drifted, but he knew exactly what she was referring to, and he felt his stomach clench at the thought. No, that would not happen. So long as it was in his power to keep her healthy, he would not let her pass on. There must be some way to nurse her back to health.

He lifted his other hand and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, looking at her with nothing but love in his eyes.

"I missed you so much, Elaine. You have no _idea_ as to how much I missed you," he said as his hand moved down to cup her face in his hand.

She brought up her empty hand and wrapped it around the one caressing her jaw, and a weak smile appeared on her lips.

At that moment, both of his hands now framed either side of her face, her fingers tightly intertwined with his own, and he had no intention of letting go. She was alive, and he was there, and that was all that mattered at that moment in time. They were together.

Movement at the door, however, caught his eye, and he turned to look, forced to let go with one hand as it instinctively went to the sword that was still at his side.

"William? Is that you?"

It was his younger brother, Erik. He was a five foot eleven shadow in the doorway to the bedroom, and it was obvious that he was shocked to see his brother home.

Erik slowly moved forward, cautiously, as though he still wasn't entirely sure that what he was seeing wasn't a mirage and would suddenly fade into smoke and drift from the room like some incorporeal spirit, never leaving any sign of being there.

But when he reached out and grasped William's shoulder, he let out the breath that he'd obviously been holding in.

"My god, it _is_ you!"

With that, he pulled his older brother into an embrace, forcing William to reluctantly relinquish his hold on his wife. They embraced wholeheartedly, and William found tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.

Erik suddenly pulled back and pushed his brother out to arm's length.

"You're…you're back! But the war isn't over…why are you here?"

Tavington merely gave a significant glance towards Elaine, and Erik's disposition immediately softened.

"Of course. Of course you'd come…forgive me for thinking otherwise."

William gave his younger brother a significant look, trying to tell him wordlessly that he understood. Erik had always been a pacifist, so he looked to his older brother to bring the family honor. For him to be home from war so soon must have confused him. How would he take it when he found out the truth about Tavington, the Butcher?

He shoved the thought to the back of his mind and moved back to his wife's side.

She weakly reached for his hand, so he quickly grasped hers in his own strong grip, feeling as though he could transfer his strength to her through his touch.

How he wished that that was the case, but he knew that there was very little hope.

Erik saw this, and quietly stepped out of the room. He had been by Elaine's side in place of his brother for several months, and now was the time for his brother to take back his rightful place at her side as her husband. He cast one last glance towards them and a small smile graced his lips.

She was already looking better.

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><p>William Tavington sat in a chair by his wife's bedside, watching over her as she slept.<p>

The sun was just rising, and the early morning rays had slipped through the curtains and now spilled across the covers of the bed where Elaine lay sleeping.

He watched with some fascination as the sunlight highlighted the deep red tones that stayed hidden in her hair while in the shadow of the house.

She was already looking somewhat more healthy. The night before, right after he had arrived and the servants were made aware that, yes, indeed, the Colonel was home, they had made her a broth which he had fed to her, and she had eaten every bit of it.

Samantha, their head cook, had told him that that was the first time that she'd ever finished a whole bowl since she'd fallen ill.

Then she'd given him a significant look with a sly smile, and said that it was good to have him home.

Suddenly, he heard the rustle of the bedclothes, and his attention was brought to Elaine's face as she stirred.

Her eyes opened, and she smiled as she saw him next to her bedside.

"Good…so it wasn't a dream." She grabbed his hand in a much firmer grip than she had the day before. "I've dreamed you coming home so many times, that I wasn't sure whether you were real or not…but now you're here."

He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back of her fingers.

"Now I'm here."

She smiled, and he felt his heart leap at the sight.

He leaned over and gently placed his lips against her own, showing her in the only way that he knew how that he loved her. Privately, the two of them were fiercely passionate about the other, but when it was possible for anyone to appear at any moment, they had to withhold.

He could feel both of them restraining themselves, and he slowly pulled back, not wanting to seem as though he were reluctant.

However, he could hear footsteps in the hallway, and he had a feeling that the door would open at any second.

He was right.

The door suddenly was flung open and in stormed his mother. It was obvious that she had been fretting as her clothes were slightly askew as though she'd been distracted while lacing up her dress. Of course, it was his mother and that was to be expected.

"William…you're home!"

He found himself enveloped in a warm embrace as his mother hauled him to his feet with surprising strength and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

He gave her a gentle squeeze in return, to which she said, "That's not a hug, young man!" To which he responded by squeezing her ever more tightly and lifting her slightly off of the ground. She was a diminutive five foot three, but because of her large personality it was easy to forget.

She pulled back and clapped her hands on his cheeks.

"It's so good to have you home, William! We have all missed you so much!"

He gave her a soft smile, and then turned to give a significant glance to his wife.

"Trust me, mother…it's _very _good to be home."

She saw the look and simply smiled. He had only been home for a day, and it looked like Elaine was already getting better because of her husband's influence. Mrs. Tavington was not the least bit surprised by the development, and was certain that Elaine would be fine now that he was back.

She gave him a sly smile, one very similar to Samantha's, and slipped back out of the room, leaving them some time for each other.

The colonel recognized the act and was silently thankful for his mother's thoughtfulness.

He sat on the bed, holding Elaine's hand, trying to be careful with her as she was still recovering, but she would have none of it.

With a strength that he wasn't even aware that she had, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and reached for him, her arms going around his neck and pulling him into a fierce embrace. Their lips met and he felt himself melting under her veracity.

With unrestrained passion she ran her tongue along the seam of his lips and he gladly opened up to her.

He groaned as their tongues tangled once more and he was able to taste her once again. Oh, how he had missed this.

He slid his hands along her sides, letting his fingers barely brush her breasts through the fabric of her nightdress.

Elaine encouraged him, moaning against his lips and pressing upwards into his hands, but he restrained himself, knowing that even though she may think that she was fine, that she was still on the mend. Instead he moved one hand to her waist and the other to her face, angling her head so that he could more properly plunder her mouth.

She groaned aloud as his tongue swept between her lips, causing the both of them to wish that she was no longer ill so that they could continue.

He slowly pulled back, and she let out a mewl of dissatisfaction, but they both knew that they needed to stop.

He moved his hand from her waist so that his hands held her head between them. He placed a loving kiss on her forehead, trying to express his gratitude that she was alive, but he knew that it was less than adequate for the emotions that were coursing through him at the present time.

Both of their breaths were labored, but they allowed themselves to breathe and calm from their brief interlude.

Good lord, how he loved this woman.

And he knew, without a doubt, that as long as she was alive he would be able to go on living…whether he was with her or not.

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><p><strong>Part 23**


	3. The Consequences

**Chapter 3 - The Consequences**

Samantha walked into the room, balancing a tray in her hands that was laden with several different foods. Following her was Mrs. Tavington, carrying yet another tray that was laden with even _more_ food. The colonel couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Are you planning on feeding a small army tonight, mother?"

Amusement laced his words, but she gave him a pointed glare and he desisted.

"This one's for you, William. I know for a fact that you haven't eaten in _two_ whole days, and I'm going to make sure that you eat down every morsel on this tray, even if I have to feed it to you myself."

The look in her eyes was deadly serious, and he took no chances on her words.

He shared a glance with Elaine, who was being served by Samantha, and he watched as she tried to hide a grin at his sudden appetite for the food in front of him. The both of them began to eat, and they did so under the watchful eyes of their two self-imposed wardens.

Luckily, he found that he was actually rather hungry and managed to eat everything that was on his tray.

Once they had both finished their supper, the two women left.

Soon after they had left the room, Erik arrived wearing his riding boots, his trousers covered in mud. The expression on his face was quite dour and quite serious.

"Will…I have to talk to you…" His voice faded, and then he cast a significant glance to Elaine. "Alone."

He could see that the look in his younger brother's eyes was serious, so he gave his wife's hand a parting caress, and then stepped out into the hall with his brother, having a slightly vague idea of he was about to tell him.

Erik worried his riding cap in his hands, obviously unsure of where to begin, but soon found the words.

"Will…there are lawmen downstairs that are insisting that you go with them to be tried for war crimes. I told them that it was preposterous, that they must have the wrong man, but they insisted that I come up here and retrieve you. Please tell me they are wrong?"

He could see the desperate and pleading look in Erik's eyes, and he suddenly found it very hard to meet his younger brother's gaze.

At twenty-one, his brother still had a boyish innocence about him, and William was suddenly aware of the fact that what was about to happen was most likely going to shatter that innocence.

He reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder, suddenly finding words rather hard to come by.

"Erik…I need you to do something for me."

His brother eagerly nodded, seemingly convinced that his brother was absolutely innocent of all wrongdoing.

"Anything, Will. Anything."

He gripped his brother's shoulder tightly, dropping his eyes for a brief moment to gather his courage to say the words that needed to be said. He had to do it now. Elaine was recovering already, and he knew that he would be allowed no more time.

Not looking his brother in the eye, he began to talk.

"I…I want you to stay with Elaine, make sure she recovers completely. I want you to tell her that I…that I love her…"

As his voice faded slightly, Erik's eyes widened slightly in the realization of what his older brother was asking him.

"No, Will…no. It-It can't be true. You, you…?"

He couldn't bring himself to look at his brother in the eyes. This admission of guilt was hard enough as it was, and he couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his younger brother's eyes. It was a disappointment that he knew would be with the both of them for the rest of their lives.

He slid his hand from his brother's shoulder, moving towards the stairs.

"I…I'm sorry, Erik," he said softly over his shoulder just before he descended the staircase.

Every footstep he took sounded like the dreaded hammer nailing his coffin shut.

He knew who was at the bottom of the stairs, and he knew that with each step he was digging himself just a little bit deeper into that hole. But of course, he had started digging it a long, long time ago. Ever since the war had originally started.

He hit the bottom landing and turned to face his fate with his head held high.

The lawmen came to him from either side and he let himself willingly go with them. It had to be done…so long as Elaine was alright.

As they led him out the door, he heard one of them beginning to read him the charges.

"William James Tavington, you are hereby taken into custody by His Majesty's royal guard under charges of war crimes."

As the man spoke, he felt soft ropes being carefully tightened about his wrists behind his back. They shouldn't have even bothered; he was not going to fight them. He knew that this day had been coming since the first instant he had set foot back on English soil.

His judgment was now upon him and he deserved every part of the punishment that he would receive.

They shoved him into the carriage out front none too gently, and he sat back as much as he could with his hands tied behind him.

_Time to meet my end_, was the only thought in his mind as the horses pulled them away from his wife and home.

* * *

><p><em>Nine Months Later<em>

William Tavington lay back on the cold, stone bench in his dungeon cell, staring blankly at the ceiling above him.

He had already counted all of the stones in his cell wall. Many times. One thousand nine hundred and twenty-seven. Now he was working on the stones in the ceiling. He had reached forty-three so far. But the sound of footsteps outside of the cell, echoing down the narrow stairs that led down to where he lay, distracted him completely.

He could hear faint voices and snippets of sentences echoed off the walls.

"…could be exonerated…" "…completely unprecedented…" "...actually freed…"

He was smart enough to figure out parts of what he was hearing.

It was quite possible that they were talking about his imprisonment…but he had been proven beyond all doubt that he was fully guilty of the crimes that he'd committed and he hadn't tried to deny the truth of his actions. There had been no point to deny it when there had been plenty of witnesses.

Besides…he _deserved_ to be here.

A loud clanging against his bars jolted him from his state of apathy, and he sat up, looking at the guard who had made the noise.

"C'mon, get up, Tavington! You need to come with us."

And with that, the other guard stepped forward and opened up the cell. The two of them came inside, tied his wrists behind his back once more, and then they escorted him out of his cell, down the hallway, and up two flights of stairs.

William then found himself being shoved out the door and into bright sunlight on the top of a flight of stone steps, and a crowd of around a hundred people were gathered around the base.

He blinked rapidly at the sudden onset of light onto his retinas, and took a quick look around.

He immediately recognized the judge that had thrown him into prison until his execution, Judge Samuel Travers, and then he noticed that someone else was on the other side of him.

He started to strain his neck to look and see who it was, but the guard behind him grabbed him by the neck and forced his head forward, obviously having been given orders to keep the prisoner in line and out of trouble by any means necessary.

Tavington stared straight ahead, waiting for what, he did not know.

Then someone was shouting out over the crowd and he suddenly was able to make sense of the snippets of conversation that he'd heard earlier just before being taken out of his cell.

"Hail the all honorable Judge Travers!" Everyone gave a brief cheer, as was custom, and the man continued. "We are here today to address the nature of the crimes that William James Tavington has been accused of. Those crimes being: murder in the first degree on more than one hundred counts, insubordination of a superior officer while in a state of war…"

He began to list the crimes, and Tavington dropped his head in shame as each one was read, but the guard behind him forced his head back up, forcing him to stare out at the crowd.

He could see the look of disgust on almost every single face as they listened to what each of his crimes were.

Finally, the list was done, but then what the man said next shocked him.

"We are here to readdress each of these crimes, as a witness has come forward with claims that William James Tavington has atoned for these sins…"

At this, the people began to loudly protest, and William could hear shouts of "But he's a murderer!" and "Hang him now!", and his heart sank slightly. He knew that they believed him to be guilty, and he knew that he _was_ guilty, but to hear them say it out loud was almost more than he could bear.

He could take the looks and the disgusted glares, but the words cut him like swords.

The judge made a motion for silence, and the crowd abated.

The man who had been speaking before gave a brief nod of thanks to the judge and then continued.

"Will the witness please step forward?"

The man who was on the other side of the judge and out of Tavington's line of sight, finally stepped forward and Tavington could barely believe what he was seeing. Standing there was Gabriel Martin, the boy that he had let live when he'd returned the colonel's journals and letters to him.

The boy was speaking in his defense?

With a nod from the speaker, Gabriel began to speak and William could hardly believe the words coming out of the young man's mouth.

"I fought against Colonel William Tavington personally," he started, and at this a murmur ran through the crowd, but he continued. "And I know that he can be brutal at times…but I do not feel that he did it with any sort of pleasure."

After he spoke he paused, as though gathering his thoughts.

"I am the son of Benjamin Martin, who you may know of as The Ghost. My father, in his own way, is just as brutal as the man that you see before you today and has done many unspeakable acts of violence. In my father's case, I _know_ that he took no pleasure out of what he did simply because of the fact that he never spoke of it and was forever praying for forgiveness for the acts that he'd done…though at the time he deemed them necessary. And in the case of Colonel William Tavington's crimes, I know that _he_ did not take any comfort out of what he was doing, either."

He took a deep breath and then forged ahead.

"On the day of November 19, 1779, I was given a bag from my father, Benjamin Martin, filled with the journals and personal letters of Colonel William James Tavington. He gave me a direct order to read them so that we might learn as much as we could in order to win the war."

At this, an even louder commotion ran through the crowd, but from a motion from the judge, they fell silent once more.

"In those letters and journals, I came to the knowledge that this man, whom you see before you today, _hated_ what he was doing with every fiber of his being. He detested what he had become, but felt, in the circumstances and pressures of war, that the actions were necessary. As I continued to read, I discovered that he wanted nothing more than to go home and leave the travesty of the war behind him."

Gabriel paused and looked at Tavington, a look of pity on his face. He then pulled out a leather bound book and William immediately recognized it as one of his journals.

"I have been given permission to read an excerpt from his journal in his defense."

He flipped it open towards the last pages and began to read, his clear voice ringing out over the crowd.

""_I feel that that I have lost myself completely. As soon as I draw on the clothes of my rank, I am suddenly someone that I hate. A man that I despise and wish did not exist, but at the same time I know that I must become this person in order to bring us to victory..." _"

The people congregated began to grow restless, obviously uncomfortable with what they were hearing, but Gabriel continued.

" "_But now I find myself questioning even this war. If they want to be separated from the crown, they should be allowed to, should they not? I can barely believe that I am writing down these words, damning and treasonous ones that they are, but all I can see now is this ridiculous feud that seems to have no point._

_I have found out rather recently from General Cornwallis what the people have taken to calling me. The Butcher. Dear lord, is this person I've become…no, the word person is not strong enough. Is this _demon_ I've become now all that is left of me? How can I return home to my family knowing the pain and suffering that I've caused? How can I turn a blind eye to the horrific acts I have perpetuated and the events that I've forced to occur?" _"

A susurrus rippled through the crowd at these words, but quickly died down as he continued to read.

" "_Not too long ago, I gave one of my officers an order to burn a church filled with men, women, and children, after making sure that they could not escape, and the words he spoke to me will haunt me for the rest of my waking days._

"_There is no honor in this," is what he said to me._

_And he was right. There was no honor in what I had ordered him to do, and I look upon that man as being twice the man I am. Captain Wilkins, the man who turned traitor to his own "countrymen", has more honor than I ever will or could ever hope to have. When I told General Cornwallis that I would take the full mantle of responsibility, rendering him blameless, it was for his sake. He did not need to bear the burden of my sins…" _"

Gabriel paused, and then turned towards Tavington. "With permission, your honor, I would like the accused to read the last part of his entry."

The judge nodded, and Gabriel walked over to William, placing his journal into his hands that had just been untied.

William took a deep breath and cleared his throat before reading the last words that he'd ever written in his journal.

" "_Knowing that I cannot return to England, that I cannot return to my wife…I feel nothing but shame. I have no honor, I have no conscience. Not anymore. I do not know how to live with myself. If I die in this war, it will only be fitting._

_I feel, that this will be my last and final missive, and I can only hope and pray that when someone reads this, they will know of my failings…and that I regret every single action I ever took upon the people of this American land. May my soul burn in hell for what I have done…" _"

At this, the crowd made no noise. It was deathly quiet and Tavington honestly didn't know whether it was a silence of redemption or damnation.

He prayed it was the former, but he kept his sights low.

He then watched as Gabriel was then summoned by the man who had been announcing everything. There were several words exchanged, but their tones were too low for him to make anything out, though he could see the two of them gesturing. Soon, the judge joined them and there was more gesturing.

It lasted for several hours.

The sun waned in the sky, and Tavington felt his legs aching with the effort of standing for so long.

The people in the crowd came and went, all of them wanting to hear the verdict.

Finally, the three men parted.

Judge Travers spoke. "On accounts of war crimes, William James Tavington is…" He looked back towards the other two, winced, and then said, "Cleared of all charges."

A collective gasp came from the crowd…

…and his heart soared.

He was free.

All because he had let the boy live when he could have easily killed him. That one act had been his saving grace, and now he was able to return to his family. To his wife.

He was free.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 33**

**A.N. - Sorry this took so long to update! I've been job hunting and such for over a year now...so here you go! Hope you enjoyed it!**


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